I'm enjoying a stay-cation this week and taking lots of photos of my adopted hometown. These are from a tour of the (teeny) library at the Tampa Bay History Center. I visited Jenn the Librarian there yesterday and was very happy to learn that despite Tampa's notorious lack of historic preservation, some fine literary and historical records are actually being saved.
There's nothing like a quiet morning of shelving books in the 800section of the library to remind you of the mistakes you've made in life. Books that loudly say "I told you so," because I should have (would have could have) read them in high school or college but had some beer/boy/zzz's to catch that seemed so much more pressing at the time.
I was on my own through much of school and it was so hard for me emotionally and financially that the lifelong learning college is supposed to inspire was lost on me. (Although I do thank Mike the Media Prof for introducing me to what would become lifelong passions: people like Chomsky and McChesney, as well as for nurturing my anti-Disney/Clear Channel attitude).
What college really taught me was how to get by: on not enough sleep or studying or money. I like to say that at least I learned to be resourceful (after all I found a school with no math requirement so I didn't have to face up to my math fear ever again.) But I've become familiar with the harm that my avoidance caused me in the long run.
Thankfully I'm much smarter now than I was back then, and still "resourceful." For example, when people ask me what school I went to, they think I say Wellesley when I really said Wesley (who am I to correct them?). Incidentally, my former roomie, also living in Florida and a Disney employee, recently fessed up to the same sin.
But back to the library. Its volumes are available to everyone equally (though you have to make the effort to find what you want, and there are brilliant librarians to help you out there). As I work these mundane tasks, I feel like I'm getting my education for real this time. And I am so happy to be getting to know such awesome librarians, two words that are synonymous in my book.
photos (starting at top): Me and roomie Linz in our 10X10 domicile. Me and Mike at graduation.
Please support media diversity and locally produced news by pledging to WMNF 88.5.
I got my start in reporting as a volunteer reporter for the WMNF Evening News in 2006 and was lucky enough to use that experience as a springboard to freelancing. I still occasionally do some news and other production for the station.
And when I borrow my mom's car, which only has an AM/FM radio - I love that I can still hear Jimmy LaFave, local artists like the magnificent Rebekah Pulley, and a daily commentary from Jim Hightower.
Several months ago I was getting settled into a new job at my local library when I came across one of my soon-to-be favorite sights: a cart full of brand new arrivals to be checked in and distributed to the stacks or waiting lists.
On this particular cart sat a book with with a sky-blue cover and one word emblazoning the spine. Lonely. A memoir by Emily White. I was a pretty solitary kid growing up and on into my early adulthood, and this one-word title spoke directly to me.
Within the week not only did I have the book in hand, but I was determined to interview the author and sell the story. Too many people suffered from loneliness, I thought. I'd really like the mainstream press to cover something like this.
But selling stories isn't as easy as it used to be. Lots of places will gladly take a writer's wares for next to nothing (so artists and writer's are subject to socialism, but we can't get socialized medicine to take care of us when we're ill?!). Despite my insatiable need to volunteer in my community, I draw the line at working for free.
Luckily I did manage to get the story sold, to the St. Petersburg Times (my first story for them, if you don't count the music story I did in February for their free tabloid tbt*).
There's no reward quite like writing what you know.
I spent this morning downtown at the Tampa Bay History Center. It was a great way to spend the 4th, from the map room with its earliest maps of our state, to the Tampa-centric likes of local tennis pro Judy Alvarez (and my former Seminole Heights neighbor) and the late artist Lamar Sparkman, who designed the original Bucs logo.
Since yesterday's post I've been marinating on the topic of community and how the lack of it encourages the worst of human behavior. I certainly don't have any new answers to offer up but I do think that smart, thoughtful people have been addressing ways to solve many of the problems caused by the human condition since the beginning of humanity. (Another great reason to read, kids!) One of my current favorites is author/activist Bill McKibben's most recent book Eaarth. I can't think of the philosopher(s) who've said that in order to fix the world, one must have their own house in order first, but it's a pretty fitting theory for this day.
In a similar vein, there was a great article in today's New York Times by Peter Goodman, a reporter who's traveled the country witnessing the effects of the Great American Recession. He's seen the same terrible things we all have either experienced or heard about happening close to home. Though the story doesn't have a happy ending (the recession goes on after all), I like how it wove together the kind acts of strangers assisting each other in their respective job searches with the desperation of the unemployed who believe so-called illegal immigrants have stolen their jobs. As a former CNA, I'd like to see those formerly high-paid educated folks work along side immigrants in nursing homes (like I did at the beginning of the recession) and see how quickly they change their tune.
Speaking of tunes, here's a long lost Woody Guthrie track called Mean Talking Blues, for those of you who aren't ready to do good just yet.
I took a walk around downtown Tampa Friday afternoon. I didn't run into any friends and I had lunch alone, but I've increasingly felt a deepening connection to this (relatively) small city lately.
I know it has something to do with not just recognizing the faces of my frequent library patrons, from the well-off to the homeless, but also knowing their names and learning a little more about them each time I come to work.
My definition of community is always maintaining a sense of togetherness, not just getting together to enjoy the easy times or to weather the tragedies.
I think it's that sense of continued connection that helps prevent the ugliest human re/actions, and keeps us neighbors/strangers looking after one another.
Still, those terrible things do happen: Wars rage on overseas and within individuals. Is there a way to stop any of the violence without making more violence? Who of us is going to try?
I'm enjoying a stay-cation this week and taking lots of photos of my adopted hometown. These are from a tour of the (teeny) library at the Tampa Bay History Center. I visited Jenn the Librarian there yesterday and was very happy to learn that despite Tampa's notorious lack of historic preservation, some fine literary and historical records are actually being saved.
There's nothing like a quiet morning of shelving books in the 800 section of the library to remind you of the mistakes you've made in life. Books that loudly say "I told you so," because I should have (would have could have) read them in high school or college but had some beer/boy/zzz's to catch that seemed so much more pressing at the time.
Please support media diversity and locally produced news by pledging to WMNF 88.5. 
